


my life, my heart, my home

by daisylincs



Series: Agents of Birthdays [16]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Agents of Birthdays, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Choices and Consequences, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Feels, Gift Fic, Happy Birthday Rebecca!!, Love, Perthshire Cottage (Marvel), Post-Finale, True Love, birthday fic, family love, parenting is hard, tough conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:33:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28709775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisylincs/pseuds/daisylincs
Summary: Fitz and Jemma finally move to their little cottage in Perthshire with Alya - and have a few tough conversations about choices on the way.
Relationships: Alya Fitz & Leo Fitz & Jemma Simmons, Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons
Series: Agents of Birthdays [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1886911
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	my life, my heart, my home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [besidemethewholedamntime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/besidemethewholedamntime/gifts).



> Dear Rebecca, 
> 
> Oh my gosh, happy _birthday,_ chocolate orange friend 🥺🥺💜 Lol, it's actually a little ridiculous that whenever I think of you, I think of chocolate oranges - but actually, you know what, I think that's a good thing. This might sound a little crazy and stupid, but bear with me - I really think chocolate oranges are an excellent way to define our friendship. 
> 
> Because, you see, chocolate oranges are something that I know I'll always enjoy, just like I know I'll always enjoy talking to you. They'll also always be sweet, and won't let you down - again, exactly like you, because, Rebecca, you really are one of the kindest, most caring and most _wonderful_ people that I've ever had the privilege of meeting. 
> 
> And as though that's not enough, you are _incredibly_ talented as well - your emotional writing is at a level that always leaves me quite positively _stunned,_ and your Fitzsimmons characterisation is honestly just _goals._ Everything you create is a pleasure and a privilege to read, just like every conversation with you is an absolute joy - so honestly, yeah, I'm going with chocolate oranges being a good thing here. You really are AMAZING!! 
> 
> I love you _loads,_ and I hope that you manage to have a wonderful birthday, regardless of 2021 and dissertation craziness 💜 Hugs, hugs, hugs, and BEST wishes for the year ahead!!

The night yawned five hours later than she had been expecting by the time Jemma was finally able to collapse onto the couch in their new cottage. Still wrapped in plastic from the store, it crackled and hissed as she sat - but, at that moment, she was far too exhausted to care. 

The reasons for her exhaustion were all around here in the piles and piles of boxes standing wherever they had been able to find space in the little cottage - but more tellingly, in the blessed and long-awaited silence from the one and only room that had been set up and tidied fully. 

Alya was finally settled in, and _asleep_. For a moment there, Jemma hadn't thought she would see the day - because as if the seemingly never-ending pileup of boxes streaming into the cottage wasn't enough, her daughter had _also_ apparently decided that sleep was the last thing she, or anyone else, needed tonight. When, in fact, both Fitz and Jemma _desperately_ needed sleep, after what had been a _hellish_ day of packing, driving, and never-ending logistics. 

There was just _so much_ to do - never in her life had she imagined that moving would be this much _work._

The scientific, logical part of her reasoned that, actually, it made sense, that houses had deceptively many furnishings that not only had to be wrapped and boxed, but _also_ transported to the new location, and unloaded there. 

And that wasn't even _starting_ on unpacking the boxes, or figuring out how many new things they would need in the first place once all of their SHIELD possessions had been declassified. 

In short, the list of things to dopiled up and _up,_ and by the end of the day, she was so hot, dusty, frustrated and tired that she would have liked nothing more than to sink into a long, hot bath with a cup of sweet tea. 

Screaming into a pillow - as long as it wasn't bloody _bubble-wrapped_ \- sounded pretty good right about now, too. 

She was just… she was _so tired._

And the thing was - for as long as she could remember, settling down like this with someone had been her dream. Sure, she'd always wanted to be a scientist, and make discoveries that would change the world, but she'd always wanted the security of knowing she'd have a _home,_ and a person who unquestionably loved her, the way her mum loved her dad, to go back to at the end of the day. 

It hadn't always been Perthshire, but when she had met Fitz, she had known. Unconsciously at first, maybe, but as the years - decades, almost, now - passed, it had crystallised into something she held dear in her deepest heart. 

And, in those five long years on the Zephyr, especially towards the end, it had been what would get her through the work - especially once she'd had to start seriously preparing for DIANA. 

Yes, she would have to forget her daughter, and yes, it would be the worst pain she'd probably ever face - but it would be _worth it_ at the end, because she'd save her friends, and then she'd take Fitz and Alya and settle down in Perthshire, never having to worry about any of it again. 

It would be just _them,_ no worries, no stress - just laughter, and love, and _life._

Well. 

That had been the _dream._

Never once had she imagined it would be like _this -_ herself so exhausted that she could barely sit up straight, let alone take in the green, quiet beauty of the Kenmore scenery. 

_Alya,_ though - her daughter had been a whole different matter. From the moment they had left the Lighthouse (new surroundings for Alya, but still mostly familiar in its drab grey and simple SHIELD-issued decor) her nose had been pressed to the window of their small SUV. 

"Mama, Mama, what's _that?"_ she would cry out, ecstatically pointing at a tree, or a cow, or a flower, or something else which Jemma considered common knowledge, but, she realised with a pang, Alya had never had access to. 

She and Fitz had answered all her queries as best they could while driving half-way down the country and juggling boxes and moving arrangements, but Jemma had been increasingly and painfully made aware of just how much their daughter had been deprived of. 

She could name most of the stars in their solar system, and, in fact, most of the stars in nearly _all_ solar systems - but something as mundane as a cow was utterly new and incredible to her. 

And that was on _her,_ and them - she and Fitz had made the decision to raise her on the Zephyr for her first four years, and keep her from the experiences that most children of her age would consider normal. _They_ were at fault for her not knowing any of this, for her rush of excited overstimulation that had kept her awake and bouncing till well past eleven - 

Beside her, the couch gave a loud, plasticky squeal as Fitz sat down beside her, a small tub of what seemed to be _ice-cream_ in his hands. 

"Here you go," he said, leaning over so that their shoulders brushed and handing her a spoon. "I tried to find us some chocolate oranges while you were distracting Alya in Aberfeldy, but their blasted Tesco didn't have any." 

He grinned ruefully, folding her fingers around the spoon. "They _did_ have Ben & Jerry's, though, you remember that American ice-cream Daisy got us hooked on?" 

"Of course I remember," Jemma said, a flood of warmth filling her chest despite her turbulent and confused emotions. She tightened her fingers around the spoon, brushing her thumb tenderly across Fitz's knuckles in silent thanks. 

She dipped the spoon into the soft, caramel-coloured ice-cream - and to her surprise and dismay, she felt hot tears prick her eyelids as the bite dissolved on her tongue. 

This took her right back, to the days of the Bus and Daisy - _Skye,_ then - confidently asserting that this ice-cream would change their lives, American or no. 

("Not _all_ American foods are trash, Fitzsimmons," she'd said, pointing her spoon sternly at them over the counter. "So you can stop your little British judginess right now.") 

Maybe it was the thought that she might never see Daisy in person again providing the last crack to break the dam of emotion that had been building all day, or maybe it was just her dull, throbbing headache and utter exhaustion finally coming to a head. 

But whatever the cause, Jemma lowered her spoon, feeling the tears push threateningly at her lashes. 

"Did we make a terrible mistake, Fitz?" she asked quietly, her voice raw. 

Fitz, mid-bite of ice-cream, swallowed as fast as he could, lowering the tub gently to the floor and turning to face her with concern in his eyes. "Hey, hey, hey," he said, reaching gently for her hands and squeezing them, regardless of the spoon still gripped in her right fist. His eyes were full of compassion as he looked down at her, holding her gaze.

"Where's this coming from?" he asked softly, but with a little catch in his voice that she didn't miss. "I thought we agreed that retiring was the right thing to do, we needed to focus on Alya and _us,_ and -" 

"No, no, we did agree on that, and I'm still agreeing," she said, half-shaking her head and blinking at the stubborn tears. "I just…" She spread her arms in a helpless gesture. "The Zephyr. We spent five years of our life there, nearly six, and what's more, those were four years of _Alya's_ life -" 

"We did what we needed to do to save our friends," he said, his voice stoic. 

She nodded slowly, losing the battle with her tears despite her best efforts. "And I'm glad we did. I just can't help wondering -" 

"It was the only way, Jem," he said seriously, his voice soft but full of intensity. 

She started to nod, then shook her head, small and uncertain at first, but then again, much firmer. "But _was_ it?" she asked, pulling her hands out of his to throw them up helplessly. "Did we really have to stay in space, _just_ in space, for all those years? Would it have been so hard for us to come down to earth every month or so, just for Alya's sake?" 

There was no disguising the catch in her voice now as she pressed on, her voice unsteady but growing louder with each word, "Because you _saw_ what she was like today, Fitz! She's the smartest four-year-old we'll probably ever know, and yet she didn't even know what a _cow_ was." 

"And that's our fault," she continued, her voice a sharp mixture of pain and bitterness as she turned to appeal to him. "It's because of _us_ that she doesn't have any of these experiences, it's _our_ fault that she doesn't know any of these little things that should be common knowledge for an average four-year-old, and I -" 

Her breathing was coming hard and fast now, and a part of her felt tremendously guilty that she was putting this on Fitz _now,_ when they had both had such a hectic day, and he had just gone out of his way to be sweet to her. 

But her emotional dam had broken, and these words needed to get out, _out._

"And I just feel so terrible about it all, Fitz," she said, and she was _imploring_ him to understand. "Because I've dreamed about this for so long, and I wanted it to be perfect more than anything." 

"But then Alya wouldn't stop asking questions, and there was just so much to _do,_ and I love her so much, but it was starting to _frustrate_ me, because this wasn't how it was supposed to go, it was supposed to be all perfect, and I -" 

She took a long, shuddering breath. "I nearly _snapped_ at her, Fitz," she said, and even she could hear the raw pain in her voice. "I nearly snapped at her, all because _my_ dream wasn't turning out to be exactly the way I'd hoped. How selfish is that? And it's worse because it's _my fault_ that she doesn't know any of these things, it's on _me_ that I didn't foresee it being a problem at all, and I call myself excellent at preparation?" 

She was sobbing now, full-on sobbing, and not even trying to hide it. 

"Am I a terrible parent, Fitz?" she asked, her voice coming out strangled and shaking with sobs. "Are we _both_ terrible parents?" 

He let out a long, slow exhale, and she was surprised by how unsteady his voice was when he spoke. "I think," he said, his voice catching on the words, "that we did the best we could in an impossible situation." 

"Look, Jemma," he said, holding up a hand to forestall her protest, "We _couldn't_ have gone out of the Zephyr, no matter how much we wanted to, because it would have put Alya at risk." 

His gaze was raw with pain, but simultaneously steely with a ferocious kind of protectiveness as he reached out to grip her hands, hard, again. "And no matter what, we would _never_ have put Alya in danger. We did it all to keep her safe, and that _cannot_ be wrong." 

"And we're going to have to bear the consequences of that choice, and bear them hard, especially once our parents find out," he said. His grip on her hands tightened. "But, Jemma, we will _do it,_ because no matter what the price, keeping Alya safe is worth more than anything." 

There were tears in her eyes again, but a different kind, now. "You're right," she said, squeezing his hands. She shook her head, the tears still trickling down her cheeks, but she could feel a steely, May-taught core of determination behind them now. "You're right." 

"Good," he said, his eyes still full of fierce intensity as he held her gaze. "And more than anything, Jemma, that makes us _good_ parents. We did everything in our power to keep our daughter safe, and we _managed_ it, we got her through a literal apocalypse unharmed." 

Jemma almost laughed at that, tipping her head back slightly to shake the hair off her face. 

Gently, Fitz untangled one of his hands from hers to brush the hair off her forehead for her, his fingers lingering tenderly on her tear-damp cheek. 

"Just because you got frustrated earlier doesn't make you a bad parent, either," he said, his voice full of pure tenderness as he looked down at her, his hand still hovering over her cheek. "It just makes you a _person."_

"Because at the end of the day, Jemma, that's what we _are,"_ he said, and she couldn't quite name the quality of his voice now - weary, and a little sad, but also _proud,_ almost. 

"We're people," he said simply. "Nothing more, nothing less. We're people, and we're doing our best with the crazy lot the universe gave us." 

He lowered the hand on her cheek so he was properly cradling her face, brushing his thumb across the curve of her cheekbone with aching tenderness. 

"And the thing is, our best gave us Alya," he said. "Our beautiful, sweet, curious, bright _Alya."_

He untangled his other hand from hers so he could put it on her cheek, too, cupping her face in both hands as he said, his eyes shining with devotion through what was almost a film of tears to match her own, "and that's worth _any_ consequences we might have to carry. We have Alya, and that's… everything." 

Jemma nodded, her gaze blurred with tears all over again, but, as she leaned forward to kiss Fitz, there was nothing but the deepest adoration behind it. 

His lips were warm and familiar against her own, and though there were tears on both their cheeks, adding just the faintest taste of salt to the kiss, it still felt like coming home. 

"Thank you," she told Fitz at last, pulling away slowly - but, not feeling quite ready to lose physical touch with him yet, she pressed her forehead gently against his. 

"And I'm sorry," she said, into the place where their breaths mingled. 

He pulled away slightly, his hands still cradling her cheeks, but his gaze full of surprise and confusion. "What for?" he asked, the question so genuine that it almost brought a real smile to her lips. 

"For making you listen to… this," she said, half-ducking her head down at herself. "We're already so tired, and you didn't need to talk me through something else now, too, on top of it all -" 

_"Jemma,"_ he interrupted, lifting his hands slightly off her cheeks, then repositioning them with an almost frustrated fondness, cupping her cheeks firmly. "Don't be! You really think I care about that?" 

When she didn't reply immediately, he pressed on, "Besides, do you remember that time I was so afraid to watch Alya on my own, and you got me to do it? You had to sit and work me through my Alistair Fitz issues for at least half an hour, and you never minded." 

"Yes, but that was -" she started, and he cut her off. 

"Or that time just a week ago when I was convinced that Enoch's death was my fault, I should've found a way to warn the team?" A shadow fell briefly across his face at the mention of their fallen friend, and Jemma lifted one hand to press it over his on her cheek. 

He let out a long, slow exhale, flipping their hands over and tangling his fingers through hers, bringing their joined hands to rest just above his heart. 

"The point is, Jemma," he said, his voice soft but full of raw, deep sincerity, "we get each other through this. It's what we _do,_ and we'll keep doing it." 

"'Til death us do part," she murmured, looking slowly up from their joined hands to meet his blue gaze. 

He nodded, once, holding her gaze, and there was a wealth of emotion in the blue depths of his gaze that she could never even begin to put a name to, to find the words to express. 

So she just exhaled, soft and slow, and leaned forward to rest her forehead against his. 

She let those last words echo in her head, let them ripple and repeat, and relished in the pure, bone-deep _rightness_ of them - _'til death us do part._

 _And not even then,_ she thought, closing her eyes and squeezing Fitz's hand tight against her. 

For a long, lingering moment, they stayed just like that, foreheads pressed together, connected in a way that no words could ever describe. 

Then Fitz stirred, shifting away just slightly, and there was something wry and playful sparkling in his blue eyes. "This has been great," he said, "but the ice-cream is going to melt." 

And Jemma _laughed_ \- rich, real, and full of pure, perfect happiness. 

Fitz was watching her, his blue gaze full of an impossible softness and love, and a small, utterly contented smile playing on his lips. 

She smiled back, squeezing their still-laced fingers tightly, and she thought she had never felt more perfectly content, more absolutely _blissful._

Because, yes, they had had a hell of a ride thanks to the universe, and there were a lot of things that she wished they could have done differently. 

But in the end, perfect or imperfect, it had gotten them _here -_ and whether it was quite the way she had imagined it or not, there was no place she would rather be. 

_**The End.** _


End file.
